Out of his depth
by Xdaisy chainX
Summary: Just a simple mission...gone very awry. When their field medic is put out of commission, who will pick up the needle and wield it in his stead? Plenty of brotherly banter and more than a little hurt/comfort.
1. Chapter 1

It was meant to have been a simple assignment. One which shouldn't have even needed the four of them to go in theory. But Treville had insisted knowing that sending them out as a group would give the mission a grander sense of purpose which in truth had been entirely for the benefit of d'Artagnan. A fact which kept rolling through his head as the blood stained figures of his Musketeers raced into the yard, one of them clutched to the chest of another on the back of one of the horses. His head lolling as his comrade gripped him that much closer in an effort to keep him from falling from the animal.

It had swelled Treville's heart with pride, although he'd never voice the feelings aloud, to see his four best soldiers leaving the garrison on horseback just a few days earlier. d'Artangan sitting loftily in his saddle with a smile tugging at his mouth as he displayed his new pauldron proudly, the leather still stiff and untested. It would mould itself to his shoulder over time and become a scarred and worn testament to his experiences. But for now it shone in the sunlight and there was not a Musketeer in the garrison who didn't catch him surreptitiously glancing at it without a smile crossing their faces as it reminded them of receiving their own commission.

The four were simply to deliver important papers to a disgraced gentlemen just over a day's ride from the outskirts of Paris. The nobleman had fallen from the King's graces during some festivity or other held at the palace many months before. The papers were his official pardon from Louis along with an invitation to the court...and a small note at the bottom with a subtle reminder to perhaps stay a few paces from each and every wine pourer who happened to cross his path at the event. Porthos and Aramis had traded a sneaky grin behind Athos as they were reminded of the Marquis' drunken antics whilst Treville had handed him the papers along with their mission brief. Both Musketeers had been lucky enough to be on duty at the palace as he had staggered from one noble person to another leaving a line of heavily offended aristocracy in his wake.

Indeed it had spiced up what would have been just another boring pageantry at the palace and they had only really seen fit to step in when the Marquis had tugged on Louis' wig with a loud "boop!" and then demanded satisfaction from a rather taken aback older gentleman who had made the entirely grave mistake of taking the last of the chocolate entremets...Apparently the Marquis' favourite. He had cooled his heels in the Chatelet for the rest of the evening before being ordered from the court officially by the King the next morning, holding his aching head and bowing in a less than heartfelt apology as the change in elevation had upset his queasy stomach.

The whims of the King were many, however, and he had been persuaded by his good hearted wife to allow the ageing man back to court after his brief stint in disgraced isolation, resulting in the bundled papers now proffered to Athos from his Captain.

Athos had taken the papers with nought but a raised eyebrow in Treville's direction before turning to leave his office, motioning to his brothers to follow him out and cuffing a still sniggering Aramis on the side of the head without looking at him as he passed. The look of mock distress which had crossed the Musketeer's face had been comical and Treville had had to bow his head in exasperation to hide the smile tugging at his mouth.

And so he had stood, watching as the four lead their steeds, pawing on the ground with anticipation of a long ride, towards the garrison exit before he turned and headed back into his office. The yard would definitely be quieter for the next few days in their absence.

* * *

><p>d'Artangan leaned back in his saddle, aiming his face at the sun's rays as they shone brightly in the piercing blue of the summer sky between the foliage of the trees. The heat felt so much cleaner outside of the closeness of the walls of Paris. For weeks he felt he had been covered in a fine grime no matter how much he washed. Caused by the bustle of the city combined with the unrelenting heat which seemed twice as hot with the press of bodies and livestock in the streets. He closed his eyes for a moment as he heaved in a lungful of the fresh, country air.<p>

Something bounced off the back of his head and he flinched despite himself, his eyes snapping open as he looked wildly around for the projectile, shuddering as his imagination conjured up some huge flying insect thing with many legs. So when it hit into the top of his head again he flailed his arms wildly instinctively trying to drive it away. The guffaws of laughter coming in stereo behind him froze his arms in mid-air as he turned slowly in his saddle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as they fixed upon the smiling face of his brother in arms who tipped his feathered hat with a wink before throwing another rolled ball of bread at the young man in front of him. The bread flew true to his aim and bounced between d'Artangan's eyes with a dull thunk. The look of surprise crossing his face was enough to renew the laughter of the imposing figure of Porthos who's horse plodded at a casual pace beside that of Aramis.

"You'll find that less comical when we're riding home hungry," the disapproving voice of Athos rang out from the head of the procession although his tone was tinged with humour.

"Oh I don't know Athos," Aramis began, the smile on his face growing if possible, larger, "I reckon it would lighten my mood...although granted I would have to find something else to throw."

"Rocks per'aps?" Porthos offered, still chuckling.

"That would hardly be gentlemanly of you," d'Artangan replied with a pout.

"Good thing then that I have never claimed to be a gentleman," Aramis said flicking another ball of bread at the Gascon.

"Well I am a gentleman, one who carries many sharp objects and a short patience," Athos said in a droll tone, amusement still evident in his voice.

Aramis took this moment to aim a ball at the back of their fearless leader, his keen shooter's eye finding its target easily. Athos froze in his seat pulling his horse to a standstill before turning slowly, an eyebrow raised as he looked towards the grinning Musketeer. The procession naturally came to a stop as their horses took their lead from his.

"Very short." With a kick, Athos turned his mount and aimed it towards Aramis who spurred his own horse forward with a bark of laughter in an attempt to escape from the man barreling towards him.

Their shouted insults faded as their horses cantered ahead around a bend in the trees. d'Artangan traded a mirth filled glance with Porthos whose throaty chuckles filled the now silent woods. He leaned back into the sun once again, a happy glow spreading throughout his entire body. He hadn't realised how big a difference gaining his commission was going to make until it finally happened. He hadn't been certain it even would happen. The thread of tension which he didn't know he'd been feeling before the pauldron had been presented to him that day had finally snapped. He felt more right than he had ever felt before.

The banter he and the men had always traded whilst on the road now felt more inclusive though he knew that the uniform had no bearing on how they saw him. He had already been their brother long before he was officially a Musketeer.

"So this beats guard duty," d'Artangan said with a contented sigh.

"It does, but not all our missions are going to be so cushy," Porthos replied, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. "Think we should put a request in for something more hardcore next time. Stop you going soft before you start."

"Hey, I've been on more 'hardcore' missions with you guys before now," d'Artangan replied, the pout making a swift comeback.

"Yeah but that was before you got your stamp of approval from the King," Porthos replied, motioning with his head towards the young man's shoulder armour, "now it only counts once that thing looks less fancy."

d'Artangan looked down to his pauldron, unconsciously brushing off invisible lint and smiling at it in spite of himself. Porthos shook his head, laughing at the dazed expression on the Gascon's face. They both snapped to attention at the sound of approaching hoof beats, relaxing visibly when the returning forms of Athos and Aramis appeared some way ahead. Aramis rubbing the side of his head and frowning at Athos who was trotting ahead of him and chewing at the remainder of his comrade's bread with a wry smile tugging at his mouth.

He winked at Porthos and d'Artangan before turning swiftly and throwing the last chunk towards the lagging Musketeer. All three roared with laughter as it bounced off his hat.

"Hey, watch the feather!" Aramis said, brushing crumbs from the rim all the while smiling his easy smile.

"Now, gentlemen, if we may. I believe we have actually got some work to do appointed by the King of France himself," Athos said turning his horse and patting at the saddle bag containing the papers for the Marquis.

"Very important work at that," Porthos added with a smile, kicking slightly at his horse's flank to get him to up his pace a little to match their leader's.

"Probably not a bad idea to put some miles behind us actually," Aramis said glancing up at the sky and the tinge of black clouds in the distance, "looks like we're going to be in for one hell of a summer storm before not too much longer."

"Come on now Aramis," d'Artangan replied, urging his own mount forward, "it's been nothing but blue skies and burning sunshine for weeks. What bad luck we'd have to have to catch a storm on the one day we've been sent out of the garrison."

"We'll see lad," Aramis replied straightening his hat which had been skewed by Athos' wheat based projectile. He had a feeling he'd be glad of it by the evening.

* * *

><p>"I bet you're feeling smug right about now!" d'Artangan shouted over to Aramis above the winds whipping about the Musketeers, driving rain into them from every angle. Despite being only a few feet from his friend, the Gascon had to holler to be heard above the raging storm.<p>

"Actually I'm feeling more than a little damp!" Aramis shouted back, pulling his hat down further onto his head so it wouldn't be torn away from him in the winds. "I'd give anything to have been wrong about my earlier predictions."

d'Artagnan grimaced at him in reply before kicking his horse forward to catch up to Athos.

"How are the papers doing?" he asked, motioning towards the saddlebag.

"I dare not check them," Athos replied. He looked up into the tempest and frowned as he saw there was no signs of it abating any time soon. A fact which was cemented when a bolt of lightning tore across the sky. The horses all started. The Musketeers garrison was filled with beasts which were specifically picked to not be skittish when scared but the fury of the storm was testing their training to its limits. Athos turned as he heard a loud "whooa," from behind him in time to see Porthos trying to reign in his mount who was handling the downpour the least well out of all of them.

"Alright, I think it's time to call it an evening," he yelled to his companions above the gale, "we'll stop at the nearest inn tonight."

"Thank god," Aramis muttered under his breath, kissing Anne's cross about his neck before spurring his horse forward to catch up with the others.

Their easy pace during the warm morning and in the heat of the midday sun meant they were not as many miles as they could have been into their journey. They had picked up the pace in the later part of the afternoon but Athos had planned for travelling much later on into the evening, which by rights should have still been lit by the summer sun but was now prematurely black in the darkening storm cloud. But as he shuddered in his rain dampened clothes he resolved they would just have to travel that much longer the following day, the moment the storm broke, to make up for it.

They moved as quickly as they dared, the road through the forest having been turned to a slippery mush over its hours of lashing from the rain.

"There!" Aramis called to his companions. His were the keenest eyes in the whole battalion and they easily picked out the twinkling of candlelight in the darkness of the trees ahead. They urged their horses forwards a little quicker in anticipation of a meal and a fire to dry off in front of.

Thundering to a stop just outside of the stables of the inn, the four men dismounted and handed their collective reigns to a young boy who was drenched almost the moment he stepped out from under the shelter. Athos flicked a silver coin into the air for his troubles and the boy snatched it before it fell. The look of discomfort on his face as he stood in the rain lessening somewhat as he fingered the coin.

Having handed over their mounts, the men hurried for the door leading into an inn which was barely a step up from a shack. But it had a roof and a small fire in the stone fireplace, stained with the smoke of many more before it. Despite the chilly rain it was still very warm outside and inside, even with a small blaze, it was stifling. However they still moved to the seats closest to the fire and bustled to sit around it, shedding as many sodden layers as was decently possible and laying them out to dry.

Athos scanned the room discretely, noting his friends doing the same, as they naturally checked out the various other patrons and assessed any threats. Aside from themselves there was the prerequisite drunk in the corner, nose deep in his ale and clutching his scabby jacket around his skinny frame in spite of the heat. A maid bustled around the room wiping down tables and attempted to keep under the radar of the burly landlady who stood behind the bar, suspicion painted on her face as she eyed the Musketeers. Besides these few and a nondescript couple in the corner, there were no other bodies sheltering from the rain. Athos nodded to himself, forcing a smile at the landlady who took this as her cue to come over to their table.

"Well I can't say we get many Musketeers in these parts," she said in a way which sounded more like a question.

"Mademoiselle," Athos began.

"Madame," she cut across him.

Athos grit his teeth and attempted to smile at the tank of a woman. A smile which came out as a grimace. Seeing his friend's discomfort, and ever the charmer, Aramis stepped in to take control of the situation without batting an eyelid.

"Why of course, Madame," he started turning his puppy eyes on full beam and sending a smile in her direction. Some of the tension visibly melted from her shoulders as she turned to look at him but the suspicious glint did not leave her eyes. "We didn't plan on stopping at your fine establishment this evening but alas, Musketeers do not make good swimmers."

"I trust there will be no trouble?" she asked raising an eyebrow and looking at each of the men in turn.

"Madame, we are upholders of the peace," Aramis began, placing a hand over his heart until a glare from the landlady quelled his mock sincerity. He cleared his throat. "You have our word."

She considered them all once more before nodding her head and turning.

"I suspect you'll want food for the table?" she said snapping her fingers at the cowering maid who visibly jumped before scuttling off to the back room presumably to rustle up their dinner.

"The table would appreciate some wine as well," Athos said, his tone droll once more. With the promise of alcohol he was done upholding his polite facade. "Three bottles to begin. The very best you have if you will."

"To begin?" d'Artangan asked Porthos quietly, leaning close to the still dripping man.

"He could drink them with just 'is first course," Porthos replied just as quietly with a mocking edge to his tone although inwardly he felt the same old twinge of worry for his friend's drinking habits. He'd lost count of the amount of times either he or Aramis, or in some cases both, had carried Athos back to his rooms to sleep off yet another drink induced coma. They had yet to find a method to stop his almost nightly sessions, although they had reduced in frequency with the arrival of their young friend who required both eyes, as sober as you could spare them, to keep him out of trouble.

"Well I don't know about you chaps but I feel this is one liquid I wouldn't mind drowning in this evening," Aramis said, raising his now full glass in a toast to his friends before taking a gulp and grimacing. "Although on second thought maybe just a slight dousing."

Their best wine proved to be about a step up from vinegar, but Athos took a thirsty gulp stony faced as if it were the King's own glass. d'Artangan traded another glance with Porthos before regarding the wine in front of him in distaste, taking a swig and coughing slightly.

"Perhaps dinner will make up for it."

It didn't. The maid scurried from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with old bread and older cheese and some fruit which was wrinkled and sad looking.

"Eat up," Athos said, tearing into a lump of the bread with a slight grimace, "we have an early start tomorrow and you're going to need your energy."

"You were right, I am beginning to regret my hilarious game of 'throw the good bread at the mascot'," Aramis said, scraping some of the more prevalent mould from a piece of cheese with the blade of his dagger before daring to take a small bite.

"Mascot?!" d'Artangan spluttered into his glass, showering Porthos with flecks of wine.

"Well you did take offence to 'tag along' remember," he said, wiping the back of his hand on d'Artangan's sleeve and shooting him a wink.

The laughs continued for the rest of dinner such as it was. Despite their grumbling, a good meal was sometimes hard to come by when on the open road and they all quietly appreciated sitting in front of the fire with a full belly and almost dry clothing.

Athos took to leaning back into his seat, steadily draining his glass and topping it up without contributing much to the conversation. His mood tended to move towards the black in the evenings. However, though he did not join in with his friend's merriment, his soul was fed by the sounds of their laughter even if he did not know it.

As they chatted about past exploits and missions gone awry long into the night, their attentions were taken by the sounds of the door opening. Three darkened figures, stooping in their haste to get out of the still driving rain, poured into the inn before taking a moment to stand and shake the water from their faces. Their leader, a pointy looking man with a desperate gleam to his eye scanned the room, a sneer turning the corner of his lip as they settled on the lounging forms of the Musketeers by the fire.

At least they looked like they were lounging. They had all tensed and fixed their attentions upon the men easily when they had barreled through the door. Aramis' hand now rested unnoticed on his pistol and the others casually grasped their sword hilts. Athos doing so in an obvious gesture all the while keeping eye contact with the trio's leader in a gentle threat.

The man watched Athos' movement, the sneer growing larger as his eyes flashed in anger. Turning to his followers, he motioned with his head to a table across from the Musketeers and they bustled towards the seat, dripping water all over the floor once more.

"Annette, the floor," barked the landlady heading for their table, the look of disgust on her face thinly veiled. Porthos wondered how she managed to get any business at all with the way she treated her patrons. "What can I get you fellas?"

"Bread," snorted the leader, "and ale."

Nodding smartly she turned on her heel, clearly wanting to keep her dealings with them to a minimum. Annette hurried over to the doorway and began soaking up the puddles of water using an ancient looking mop. She kept her head down in an attempt to make herself as small as possible, quite clearly scared out of her wits when she inched closer to the men surrounding the table. The Musketeers continued their easy conversation although they each kept a wary eye on their new bar mates. A soldier should always trust his gut instinct after all.

"Well look at this pretty, little thing we have here boys," the leader said ogling at the maid with a lecherous gleam in his eye. She stiffened slightly as she worked, but continued mopping with her face aimed to the ground. "Why don't you put the mop down sweetheart and come take a seat on my lap?"

Porthos put a restraining hand onto Aramis' arm, instinctively knowing that he wouldn't take kindly to the men making a young woman uncomfortable. He felt his brother tense under his grasp and squeezed his fingers, reassuring him that they were all very much paying attention to what was happening and wouldn't stand for the situation worsening. There was always the chance they would leave her unharassed to continue her work. Unfortunately for them it seemed like they had no such plan.

"I'm talking to you girl," said the man with a growl, nodding at his companion who was sitting closest to where Annette was working. With a guttural laugh he stood from his seat and in one swift motion, grasped the trembling girl and threw her into the waiting arms of his leader and his friend. She squealed in surprise and terror, the noise drawing the attentions of her mistress from the back room.

"Excuse me gentlemen." The four Musketeers had stood the second the man had lain his hands upon the maid and Aramis had taken a step towards them. His expression and tone belying the anger which blossomed in his chest at their treatment of the woman.

"We ain't no gentlemen," the leader replied looking up to the towering figures of the men, seemingly unperturbed.

"I was attempting to be polite," replied Aramis through gritted teeth. "Now if you would be so kind as to release Annette here, I can see her mistress would like a word with her."

The landlady was stood in front of the bar, her hands grasped in front of her and worry on her face at the current turn of events. She may have cast an imposing figure to the Musketeers when they entered but the truth was her husband was away and he was usually the brawn when it came to handling fighting.

"No actually, I think the good lady can spare her gutter rat for a little time. We've been on the road for a while and could do with some entertainment."

"I think we really must insist," said Athos, a dangerous edge to his tone.

With that, the leader looked Athos dead in the eye, squeezing Annette a little tighter eliciting a squeak from her as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. He winked slowly at Athos before licking her on the side of her face.

The room erupted. The three men stood quickly, the leader throwing Annette to the side where she hit the ground and crawled into the corner of the room, drawing up her knees and watching wide eyed. Aramis stepped forward, knocking the drawn pistol of one of the men to the side so the shot he fired embedded itself harmlessly into the wooden timbers above his head. He followed this through with a blow to the man's ribs which had him doubling over trying to catch his breath.

The leader's other companion proved to be slightly more formidable. He leaped forward, holding the muzzle of his pistol in his hand and bringing the grip down hard across d'Artangan's face. The young man was thrown to the side where he crashed into the table sending it flying across the room. Porthos crossed the floor towards him with a yell, gripping the hand he threw in a punch towards his face and using the man's own momentum to launch him into the wall where he hit with a groan before crumpling to the ground.

Athos zoned out of the fighting around him, trusting his comrades to handle their opponents as he whipped out his sword and brought it up to the man who answered by whipping out his own weapon. Athos paused for a moment, a deadly grace evident even when he wasn't moving. The sword was an extension of his arm and he smiled as he felt its weight. The smile threw off the leader and he visibly blanched, flinching when Athos moved towards him, his sword flashing in the candlelight. The fight was brief but brutal. The clashing of metal rang throughout the room which was, in truth, too small for the swords to swing. Athos adapted his style easily, taking to smaller strokes and jabs.

Panic flashed in the eyes of his quarry as he tried to return the blows, losing the upper hand immediately and staggering back as he scrambled to defend himself. Athos landed three good hits successively, the third placing the tip of his sword into the fleshy part of the man's shoulder. He bellowed in pain and staggered back, crashing into a chair and falling to the ground in a heap of arms and legs clutching his bleeding wound.

"All right, all RIGHT!" he shouted at Athos, hate in his eyes as his chest heaved. At his shout, his companions ceased their movements. One wrestling with Porthos and the other slicing at the air in front of Aramis with an evil looking, old dagger. d'Artangan was still seated on the ground, clutching at his face and blinking owlishly.

Aramis and Porthos stood, breathing deeply, matching looks of intensity crossing their faces as they eyed up the men in front of them. Ready to attack once more if needed. Neither of them were unscathed. A bruise was forming around Porthos' eye and Aramis took a moment to assess a bleeding cut on the top of his forearm which was staining the fabric of his shirt. The blow probably would have glanced off of his leather coat but it was currently still steaming in front of the fire. They looked to Athos in unison, nodding once in reply to his questioning gaze. They were both alright.

"Oh look, I believe you were just leaving," Athos said coldly, daring the lead man to argue with him.

"This isn't over _Musketeer_," the man said, a sneer turning his final word into a hiss of hatred. "Come on," he barked at his men as he dragged himself to his feet, still clutching his shoulder. They grabbed their meagre belongings and headed back out into the storm, slamming the heavy wooden door behind them.

There was a moment of complete silence in the room before the landlady headed over to the door and pulled down a formidable latch, locking it for the night.

"I think we have enough company for this evening," she said in a clipped tone, taking a deep breath before turning to the men. "Thank you. For dealing with those thugs."

"Not at all madam, I'm only sorry we made such a mess," Athos said congenially, sheathing his sword and holding out a hand to d'Artangan, who gripped it with a nod of thanks as he was hauled to his feet. "Now if you don't mind I think we'll call it a night."

"Of course, Monsieur. Thank you once again, the wine is on the house."

"Come on now, it's alright they're gone," Aramis said quietly, holding out his hand to the still trembling form of Annette as she sat huddled on the floor. She looked up to him with wide, watery eyes before taking his proffered hand and allowing him to gently set her on her feet.

"Tha...thank you Monsieur," she said in a tiny voice before running to the open arms of the landlady who clucked over her fondly, leading her from the room.

"Top of the stairs and to your right gentlemen, and I bid you goodnight."

Gathering their things, the men headed for the stairs, Porthos steadying the still wobbly form of d'Artangan as they aimed for their room. It was a small inn and the only remaining room had been a twin. Being soldiers they had been forced to make do with rougher sleeping conditions than this and the thought of the four of them sharing a small room did not deter them.

Porthos led d'Artangan to one of the beds, pushing him down with a firm hand when he made to protest.

"You should rest that head lad," he said, daring him to argue.

"Look at me," Aramis said, walking over to d'Artangan and staring into each of his eyes in turn, his medic instincts taking over. He tutted slightly as he assessed the gash oozing blood on the young man's cheek and which was already turning a beautiful array of colours. "Doesn't look like there's any signs of concussion luckily for you," he began with a smile, dipping a cloth into the bowl of water which had been provided for them before applying it to d'Artangan's face. "You seem to have as hard a head as Porthos."

"Hey," Porthos said, looking up from his seat on the other bed where he was pressing at the bruise forming around his eye gingerly.

"Leave that alone," Aramis said sharply looking up for a moment from his ministrations on d'Artangan. "You might make it worse."

"You can talk, I'm not the one bleeding all over the place," Porthos said with a huff.

"It's nothing," Aramis replied in a clipped tone.

"Aramis," Athos said giving him _that_ look. Aramis was their make shift field medic on the road and his skills were invaluable no matter how modest he tended to be about them. However, he had the most annoying habit of tending to others and 'forgetting' to take care of himself. There had been more than one occasion they had finished up a mission thinking all was well, only to have Aramis face plant from his horse on the way home from some concealed injury or other.

With a sigh Aramis finished tending to d'Artagan before flopping down next to him on the bed and shooting a petulant glare at their leader. Porthos hissed in sympathy as Aramis rolled back his cuff exposing an angry looking wound which still trickled blood.

"It is not too deep. Looks like you were not the only lucky one tonight my friend," he said with a smile at d'Artangan. "I'll be able to get away with just binding it."

Taking the glass of wine Athos had managed to bring with him into the bedroom, and ignoring his noises of protest, he dumped the remaining contents over his cut. Wincing a little as the alcohol stung.

"I was drinking that," Athos droned.

"Yes well it is vitally important that we tend to all our wounds apparently," Aramis said with a grin as he finished cleaning out the cut and began binding it with some linen strips from his field kit.

"Give it 'ere," Porthos said as Aramis struggled to tie off the make shift bandage. He offered his arm to his friend with a nod of thanks.

Shaking the bottle of wine he had seemingly smuggled into the bedroom as well and seeing it was empty, Athos set it onto the table before leaning back into his chair and placing his feet on the end of the bed.

"I think it's probably time to call it a night don't you agree?" he asked before tipping his head back and placing his hat over his face. "Goodnight gentlemen."

"Our fearless leader is probably correct," Aramis said taking off his boots and placing his hat onto the table after fluffing up the feather which had become somewhat bedraggled in the rain, a look of consternation on his face. "So my dear Porthos. Rock, paper, scissors for the other bed?"

* * *

><p>Well I started this out with the intention of it being a one shot as I haven't tried my hand at one of those just yet...and I failed miserably. It ended up being a seventeen thousand word plus mammoth so I'm going to post it in three parts.<p>

I loved the series when I watched it the first time round and got the bug for reading Musketeer fics on here recently after a second watch..and I couldn't help but have a go myself. I got the prompt for this story from the bbc kinkmeme which sounds a lot ruder than it is (I saw people quoting it on their stories and checked it out intrigued and aside from the actual kink ((nope)) there are some good plot ideas..one which sparked this fic). The idea of which was one or more of the boys being 'out of their depth'.

It'll become clearer as the story progresses.

Any comments and critiques are gratefully received as ever!


	2. Chapter 2

They rose early the next morning. Early enough that the sky was still tinged pink in the sunrise and dew clung to every blade of grass. The storm had finally blown out leaving the air feeling clean and fresh for the first time in days. It was positively chilly compared to the temperature of recent mornings.

Seeing their mounts had been well cared for in the night, Athos flipped another coin at the youth who had taken them the previous evening. He caught it with a grin before running away shyly as Aramis chuckled quietly at his expression.

They checked that their tack had been secured tightly before mounting up and clicking their horses onwards. Athos set as quick a pace as he dared over the still sodden ground, determined to gain some miles before the sun was properly up. A few hours later he slackened his gait as they reached a thicker part of the forest, so tightly packed with trees that the dense foliage blocked out much of the sun's light making it seem almost like dusk. The horses frothed at the mouth and their chests heaved as they were pulled back to a trot to conserve their energy.

"Athos," Porthos called, bringing his mount up beside him. "There's a stream nearby, we can water the horses."

Athos nodded in reply and motioned for Porthos to take the lead. Trotting into a section of the wood which was thick with bushes, Porthos dismounted and led the horse to a small brook, concealed from the road by the greenery.

"I've 'ad to come out this way once before. The Marquis departed another of 'is majesty's parties without 'is wig once," he said in answer to Athos' questioning gaze.

"You were riding through the forest carrying a powdered wig?" Aramis asked, with a snort knowing the Marquis and his love of the out of date headpieces, "or did you cut out the middle man and just wear it the whole way there?"

"Very funny," Porthos said, scowling at d'Artangan who was openly laughing at the mental picture Aramis' words had conjured. "I 'ad it in a bag."

"I think we've covered enough miles to justify a rest," Athos said, leaning against a tree and sliding to the floor.

"Good, I can barely feel my legs," d'Artangan said perching on the trunk of a fallen tree with a wince.

"You'll soon get used to riding for days at a time lad," Aramis said with a chuckle.

"Really? Maybe you could send that memo to my arse," Porthos said also sitting on the trunk, "I've been doing this for years and I still wake up aching."

"Well yes, but I didn't want to ruin the glamour of being a Musketeer too early for him," Aramis said leaning against a tree.

"Trust me after spending a night sharing a room with you three the glamour's already worn off," d'Artangan said with a grin.

They traded insults back and forth as Aramis pulled some of the bread and cheese the inn's landlady had packed for them for lunch on the road and shared it amongst the group. He walked back to his nominated tree, scanning the forest lazily as he laughed to himself at the childish arguing of Porthos and d'Artangan, interspersed with the impatient tone of Athos as he reached his limit of their bickering.

He chewed on his bread in a half daze as he allowed his mind to wander. His attentions were brought back to the wood as he realised there was a sudden absence of birdsong. He frowned slightly, unconsciously bringing himself back to a standing position as he leaned forward scanning the forest in earnest this time. The air had grown so still that when a branch snapped not thirty paces from their position, the sound cracked so loudly around the trees that he flinched despite himself.

"Ambush!" he yelled, turning to his brothers and dropping his bread to the ground as he reached for his pistol.

Another sound like a branch snapping ricocheted around the trees and Aramis was thrown back into the trunk behind him with a jolt. A burning fire exploded in his shoulder and his left arm went numb. Confused Aramis looked down at the blood leaking through the small hole which had been punctured through the leather of his doublet.

"Aramis!" Porthos yelled at his friend as they realised he had been shot. He made a move to his comrade but suddenly the trees around them were filled with the voices of several men shouting as they burst through the bushes, weapons raised.

The Musketeers leapt to their feet. They looked to be outnumbered three to one. Athos whipped out his sword and made short work of the man who reached him first, drool dribbling down his chin from the force of his yelling.

All around him was the sound of clashing metal. He whipped out his pistol and aimed it at a giant of a man throwing his weight behind his blade as he fought with d'Artangan. The young Musketeer was matching the man blow for blow but he didn't have the advantage of bulk on his side. The musket of Athos' pistol buried itself deep in the meat of the man's thigh and he roared as he gripped at it. The distraction was enough for d'Artangan to gain the upper hand and he ran the man through with a yell. Pulling back his blade, he nodded at Athos before turning and launching himself into another battle.

Athos turned and jumped as a loud bang rang out in the forest and the bandit that was about to bury his dagger into his back was pulled up as short, a look of surprise on his face. He slumped to the floor with blood running down his chin revealing the wan form of Aramis behind him leaning heavily against a tree. His pistol smoked in his hand.

"Aramis, behind you!" Athos called out as another man approached the staggering Musketeer. Aramis grit his teeth and met his quarry with a yell as he drew his sword with difficulty, dropping his spent pistol to the ground.

Athos made to head towards his ailing comrade when he was set upon by two of the bandits.

"I told you this wasn't finished Musketeer. But this time, I brought friends."

With a thrill of shock and anger Athos recognised the leader from the previous evening.

"I will see you dead before the end of this." Athos dead panned. It was said without any anger, just an absolute certainty that there would be no other outcome. It chilled the man to his bones but it was too late to do anything other than raise his sword and advance upon his doom.

Athos span and whirled without thinking as he matched his opponents with ease. As he moved he felt rather than saw the raw energy of Porthos charging around the clearing mopping up any that had dared to challenge him, and the jerky grace of d'Artangan who's skill with a blade would one day match his own.

Aramis was another matter entirely as he lunged drunkenly at his attacker, clearly beginning to lose the battle with his remaining stamina.

Athos' attentions were brought back to his own battle sharply when one of the men caught his hip with a lucky blow, opening a cut which stung as it bled. It wasn't a serious wound but it hampered his movement. The worry he felt for Aramis was flooding through him, the urge to get to his brother to protect him was clouding his abilities. A fact which was underlined as the leader caught the top of his hand with his blade. Hot blood poured down his fingers and made his hand slick. The grip on his sword was suddenly unreliable. The leader let out a bark of triumph, moving in for the kill.

Athos eyed the man evenly before moving to hold the hilt with his other hand. He was almost as accomplished a swordsman with his left, a fact he had exploited on many an occasion to his enemy's downfall. The leader's face fell as Athos lunged, quelling any thoughts he had for his comrades so he could concentrate on the job at hand before helping them. He took a measured step forward to block a blow from the leader's hand, following the motion swiftly by throwing the dagger he held at his back so it protruded from the chest of his other quarry who hit the floor in a heap.

The leader blanched and took a step back as if to run. Athos did not give him the chance. He lunged at the man, running his sword directly through his heart. Athos' face was a mask of nothing as he stood an inch from the leader, staring directly into his eyes.

The man choked as his pierced heart fluttered, attempting to beat around the hardened metal skewering it before failing. Athos took a step back, bringing his sword with him and allowing the leader to drop to the ground, lifeless.

Athos took a moment to breathe, the stinging at his hip and hand made itself known once the adrenaline began leaking from his system. He turned and launched himself towards Aramis who was partially concealed behind foliage. Athos rounded it in time to see him take a blow to the face which sent him staggering. With a cry of rage Athos launched himself forward and buried his sword hilt deep into the stomach of Aramis' attacker. He turned to his brother, panting.

"Good...timing," Aramis managed between breaths before his legs fell from under him and he crashed bonelessly to the ground.

Athos ran to his fallen brother, skidding to the floor beside him and checking his throat for a pulse. He noted the large blood stain on Aramis' doublet and his sweat covered face with worry before feeling the slow beat of a pulse beneath his fingertips. He dragged Aramis behind the cover of a large tree, checking the coast was clear.

"We shall be back for you brother," he said, taking Aramis' dagger to replace his own.

Standing, he retrieved his sword before running straight back into the battle, rushing back to the clearing and coming to a skidding halt as he realised d'Artangan and Porthos needed no more help. Porthos felled his last attacked with a mighty swing of his fists which launched him bodily into d'Artangan's would be quarry. They hit the ground with a thump and d'Artangan made to finish them, but the look in the eyes of the still conscious man stilled his sword.

"Remember the men who took pity on you this day," d'Artangan bit out with venom in his voice before turning to his friends.

They were all of them bleeding from various cuts and gashes, but it was Porthos' eyes which were the rawest wound.

"Aramis...?" he began.

"Alive, for now," Athos replied, still out of breath, "come, we must tend to him."

Sheathing their weapons they hustled to where Aramis was still propped against the tree.

"Aramis!" Porthos began, kneeling down alongside his friend, worry evident in his every movement. "Come on now, let's see them beautiful peepers of yours."

He tapped Aramis on the cheek gently trying to get him to wake up. The Musketeer came to with a start, glancing blearily around his friends with half lidded eyes.

"I take it..we won then.." he said, grimacing.

"Well, we did the winning. You were clearly busy resting," Athos replied, relief obvious in his voice.

"Hah...my prowess..clearly scared them away," Aramis said, his voice fading as he lost the battle with consciousness once again.

"We need to get 'im out of 'ere incase there's any more of them," Porthos said glancing up to Athos.

"The inn," d'Artangan said, already moving to gather the horses who had scattered in the battle.

"Come then, we ride hard," Athos said moving to help Porthos move their fallen brother.

* * *

><p>Porthos ached from clutching his friend to his chest but he would never complain of the burden. They had all helped each other in the aftermath of battles before now and doubtless would do it again if...no not if, when Aramis was back on his feet. He couldn't even begin to think about losing one of his brothers, especially not the unconscious Musketeer he was hanging on to.<p>

Athos barrelled through the door of the inn. It had reached the evening by the time they had returned but the inn was as empty as when they had left it. Apparently it was not a great location for business.

The landlady jumped, startled out of her reverie by the banging of the door.

"Madame, I am sorry to trouble you again so soon but we need a bed, our friend is injured," Athos announced by way of explanation.

"Monsieur!" she said, clutching her heaving, ample chest in shock. "Of course, of course, bring him in. You can take the room down the hall."

"We're going to need plenty of rags and the hottest water you can manage," Athos said, stepping aside to allow Porthos and d'Artangan to carry a limp Aramis through.

"And brandy," Porthos said grunting under the dead weight. "Athos, grab the kit."

Athos nodded once before turning to retrieve Aramis' field kit from his horse's saddlebag. It was a small, leather pouch consisting of the few vital things Aramis had learned he needed most when tending to fallen brothers on the road. Bandages, a small vial of smelling salts and needle and thread amongst other bits and bottles. Athos had been on the receiving end of Aramis' ministrations more times than he liked to count. His knowledge had been picked up over his years of service both in and before his time in the Musketeers and Athos trusted his hand completely.

Though Aramis had tried to train the others in the gruesome art of sewing your comrades back together, Porthos had not had the stomach for it and Athos not the patience. He wished now, as he always did when it was Aramis who needed patching up, that he'd spent more time practising when the practise had been offered. He took a moment as he fastened the saddlebag to breathe and steel himself for the coming ordeal. Tending to a wound so serious was always sapping, not least to those doing the tending and obviously to the patient themselves. But also to the men who watched and waited and wondered if all they had done would be enough to save the life of their friend and brother. Or if they would have to sit and watch helplessly as each breath drew them closer to their last.

No, Aramis was stronger than his easy exterior would ever let on. It was just a shoulder wound. He was going to make it. On that thought, Athos squared his shoulders before heading back into the inn. It had taken him moments to retrieve the kit but in that time the others had managed to strip Aramis to his waist and lay the thankfully still unconscious man on to the bed. As much as they wanted to see Aramis open his eyes, the process of stitching him up would be a lot easier on him if he remained dead to the world.

The landlady bustled about the room, lighting candles before leaving to retrieve the pan full of water she had placed over the fire to boil.

Athos looked at his friend for the first time properly since the battle. The skin on his face was tinged with grey beneath the sheen of sweat coating his entire body. The wound on his shoulder seemed to be small but the torn skin around it was pink and angry belying the damage within. It oozed blood sluggishly which gave them hope that it hadn't hit anything vital, as did its entry point.

"There ain't no 'ole on 'is back," Porthos said anticipating Athos' question about an exit wound.

"Then we must remove the bullet," Athos replied, reaching behind his back and taking out his dagger. "I assume neither of you will argue with me playing surgeon for this evening?"

"You know I can't 'andle the blood," Porthos said paling, unafraid to admit to his shortcomings when it concerned something so serious as the well being of a comrade. Not that he had ever had reason to be afraid of admitting a shortcoming to his brothers. "Especially not when it's 'is."

d'Artangan's eyes were wide in the candlelight. He looked from Aramis to Athos and slowly shook his head.

"I've never done anything like this before..not unless you count helping deliver a calf."

"Did you...just compare me...to cattle?"

With a start all three men turned to their prone friend who was blinking rapidly to clear the tears of pain collecting in his eyes.

"Aramis, 'ow are you feeling?" Porthos said moving to his bedside.

"A bit like I...was shot..actually," Aramis replied attempting a chuckle which quickly descended into a groan. "So who gets...to play..my nursemaid this fine evening."

"That honour rests with me," Athos said, scanning his friend's face to try to assess precisely how much pain he was concealing from them. From his rapid but shallow breathing and the tensing of his shoulder muscles it seemed like it was likely to be a lot.

"Did the bullet...go all the way..through?" Aramis said between gasps.

"Unfortunately for us both..no," Athos said, his face impassive as he concealed the slight tinge of panic which tickled his consciousness at the thought of what he knew he had to do. Place him at the head of an army which was out numbered five to one and he would unsheathe his sword with no sign of a tremble in his hand. Ask that same hand to administer stitches and he was immediately out of his depth.

He plunged his hands into the bowl of water provided by the lady of the house, wincing at the heat of the water as it ran over the stinging cut he had received in the heat of the battle. He'd had no time to tend to it and it protested at the water. He grabbed at a piece of stray bandage and wrapped it around his wrist tightly, tying it off with his teeth.

"Perfect, I'd have..hated for this...to have been easy.." Aramis replied, ever attempting to inject humour into situations where it had no right to be. Porthos leaned over, grasping the forearm of his good shoulder knowing immediately that the humour was a mask. They all knew that the grinding pain of removing a musket ball was immeasurably worse than the initial burn of receiving the shot.

"I'm 'ere," he said, squeezing Aramis' arm.

"I know," Aramis said quietly, so quietly they almost didn't hear it. "Now...I've talked...you through this before."

Athos jolted slightly as he realised Aramis was talking to him.

"You need to...make sure the..tip..is white hot and then plunge it..into alcohol."

Athos nodded before turning stiffly to the nearest candle, hovering the blade of his dagger over the flame and watching as it began to change colour in the heat.

"d'Artangan, if you would be so kind as to pour two measures of brandy and use a good slug to wash out the wound...d'Artangan!"

At Athos' shout, d'Artangan jumped out of his reverie and turned to the bottle. Knocking it so it wobbled on the table until he steadied it with his hand. He poured two fingers of the alcohol into each of goblets the landlady had provided before turning to Aramis with a grimace. He knew the sting of the alcohol was going to be less than comfortable and he was unwilling to cause his friend any more discomfort.

"I'd appreciate it if..we could get this part over.." Aramis said, seeing the hesitation on the young man's face. "It's fine d'Artangan...I've had worse."

"I'm sorry," d'Artangan bit out before stepping forward and pouring the alcohol clumsily into the still bleeding wound.

Despite Aramis' words he writhed as the liquid hit his shoulder, hissing as he bit his lip to hold in a shout of pain. Porthos gripped his arm all the tighter, his eyes darkening as he watched his friend squirm. Porthos knew it was a necessary evil for him to be able to heal and get better but it didn't make watching it any easier.

Athos sighed as the tip of the blade finally turned white. He stilled the tremble in his hand and turned to the table, plunging it into the goblet of brandy where it spluttered. He lifted the other glass to his lips and downed the measure of alcohol with a grimace.

"Let's get this over with," he said moving to stand by the bedside, the apology written all over his face.

Without preamble, he plunged the tip into the wound, wincing as he felt it scrape against the musket ball. Aramis tensed enough that his torso lifted clear from the bed as the knife pierced hole, fresh blood making rivers down his already bloodstained shoulder. Porthos gripped at Aramis' arm still, attempting to offer some small comfort, and used his free hand to restrain his brother onto the bed.

"He isn't making this any easier," Athos said, his eyes slightly wild as he panted with the exertion of trying to pry the damn bullet from Aramis' shoulder whilst simultaneously attempting to hold him down.

Aramis writhing stilled slightly and Athos looked up into the face of d'Artangan who had stood at the head of the bed and placed his hands on the suffering man's chest to help restrain him, freeing up one of Athos' hands. Athos nodded his thanks before turning back to the not so delicate task.

He managed to work the blade under the ball, though it was no easy feat with both his sweaty palms and the perspiration which now soaked Aramis' chest. But finally, with a wet sound, he pried the blood soaked bullet from the wound. Aramis gave one more mournful groan before sinking bonelessly into the bed. Athos paused, lowering his head and breathing deeply for a moment before turning and dropping the musket ball into the empty goblet with a ring.

"He's out," d'Artangan said opening one of Aramis' eyes and seeing the lack of response.

"Thank god," Porthos replied darkly, his chest heaving as he lowered himself down and pressed his forehead to Aramis side, his arm muscles twitching slightly from their exertion. "Stubborn bugger."

"Now for the fun part," Athos said, sarcasm vying with worry for a place in his voice.

"That...wasn't the fun part?" d'Artangan said, eyes widening again. His only previous experience of such a procedure had been when Aramis had deftly closed the gaping wound Porthos had received from an axe blade being embedded in his back. But thanks to Athos' fist shaped bedside manner it had been a much quieter and less gruesome affair. Truth was, his heart was beating wildly at what he had already witnessed that evening and he was looking forward to the moment it was over. He didn't know how much more pain he could witness them delivering to their friend.

"Well luckily 'e's out for the count..although Aramis tends to take 'is stitches well," Porthos replied. d'Artangan noticed how he still held onto the marksman's arm even though he wasn't aware of his surroundings. It took the young man only a moment to realise it was in part to reassure himself as much as for Aramis' benefit.

"Although he can't help but offer helpful little hints as you try to attach two ragged pieces of skin back together without piercing too deep and doing more damage or piercing too shallow and ripping said skin," Athos said slightly wildly as he rummaged through the field kit, grabbing the needle and attempting to loop the hair thin thread through the eye, "and he adores berating you for going even slightly off centre in case a wonky scar affects his chances at bedding the other half of the female population of Paris. Damn it all I cannot thread this blasted needle!"

Both Porthos and d'Artangan had looked to their leader as he started his tirade, both sets of eyebrows raising in unison as it continued. They jumped in synch at his final outburst before silence descended on the room. d'Artangan leant forward and took the needle and thread from Athos' hands, pointedly not looking at the way they still trembled in the candlelight as he looped the thread through the eye on this third try. He handed the now threaded needle back to Athos before placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You're doing fine. Better a job than either of us would be doing."

Athos didn't say anything for a moment before nodding his head in thanks and taking a deep breath. He looked at his hands for what felt like the first time and saw them gleam as the light reflected off the blood coating them. His friend's blood. No not his friend, his brother. It shook him to the core and he stared until Porthos cleared his throat in the silence of the room.

"Best get started Athos. 'E's lost a lot of blood as it is."

"Of course," Athos replied in clipped tones, visibly shaking himself from his reverie. "d'Artangan, if you would be so kind as to clean the wound a little so I can get a purchase."

d'Artangan nodded, moving to soak one of the strips of linen, that would serve as both bandage and blotter, in the still hot water the landlady had provided before turning back to Aramis. The white of the linen stained pink almost instantly and it took another two strips until most of the blood was cleared, although the wound was bleeding freely again since its most recent abuse.

Athos leaned close to the puckered skin, taking a deep breath and holding it so that his breathing rhythm wouldn't disrupt the placement of the first stitch. He hovered over the surface deciding for a second before plunging it into his chosen spot. His stomach lurched at the feeling. It was like piercing a hog, something he had done any number of times as they travelled on the road but the comparison made him queasy. This was Aramis, not some carcass being prepared for dinner.

Steeling himself he pushed the needle, now slick with the Musketeer's blood, through the other side of the ragged wound. A tense fifteen minutes, though it felt like a lifetime to Athos, passed in silence as he worked to close the hole. Finally he pulled the needle through for the last time and tied off the last stitch. He took a step back to check his handiwork, gasping a little as the room span. He braced himself on the frame of the bed, closing his eyes until the dizzy spell passed. He clearly had been breathing too shallowly. Team that with the anxiety from what he had just done and the worry that still coursed through him for his brother and his body had taken a moment to let him know it wasn't impressed.

"Athos?.." began Porthos, eyes narrowing.

"I'm alright, just need a minute," he said, wiping his brow which had been slicked in a fine, cold sweat, with the back of his blood stained hand unknowingly leaving a bright red streak on his forehead.

"Now what?" d'Artangan said, looking from one man to the other.

"Now. Now we wait and hope the wound doesn't fester and he doesn't take to fever," Athos replied, the room finally righting himself.

"'E's too pale, I don't like it," Porthos said, leaning forward to place the back of his hand at the man's soaking brow. "'E feels warm."

They tensed at his words hoping against hope it was because of the night's ministrations and not the first signs of fever. After the abuse his body had been through that day, a fever would potentially finish him off.

"We can only wait," Athos said, turning to the steaming bowl of water and plunging in his blood sodden hands. After clearing them a little too thoroughly, he swore he could still see the blood no matter how much he scrubbed, he emptied the contents out of the window before refilling the bowl with the jug the landlady had also provided. He soaked a few of the bandages, wringing them out and turning to begin cleaning the rest of the blood, dirt and sweat coating their brother. d'Artangan helped with his task as Porthos sat, now gazing at his comrade and still clutching at his arm. After they dried his shoulder, Athos bound the now clumsily closed wound, the red of fresh blood spotting the pristine linen.

"I reckon 'e's going to 'ave a thing or two to say about that one," Porthos said with a wan grin trying to break some of the tension of the room. The humour fell flat and Porthos wondered, not for the first time, how Aramis managed to be their light in the darkness of such situations so easily. Often an off the cuff remark from him was all it took to raise their spirits as they stood vigil over one of their fallen brothers. Porthos' stomach clenched at the thought of that light being snuffed from the world.

Athos finally sank into one of the chairs by the bedside, thoroughly spent. His heartbeat slowed to normal but the adrenaline fading from his veins caused his hand tremors to, if anything, grow worse. He folded them under his armpits until they decided to stop rebelling. From the corner of his eye he saw d'Artangan flop into the remaining chair, covering his face with his hands with a sigh.

"Rest you two, there's no need for all of us to lose out on sleep," Porthos said, seeing his companions flagging. "I'll wake you if there's any change."

"Wake me in a few hours. I will take the next watch," Athos mumbled sleepily. His eyes were already closing of their own accord. Perhaps he would throw it all in for a surgeon's life. Apparently it was better than the four bottles of wine he usually favoured as his preferred sleeping aid. His mind thoroughly rejected the idea with another pull at his stomach however. If he didn't have to sew up another of his brothers ever again it would be too soon.

* * *

><p>Well bugger I was not expecting such a response from the first chapter! To everyone who took the time to leave a comment or review, thank you. The guests too who I cannot reply to. It really made my day to log into my email and see such a flood of feedback!<p>

Here's chapter two of three. As always, any comments or critiques are welcomed with open arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Athos woke with a start, his body primed and ready to fight whatever foe his mind had decided was in the room with them. He blinked in the darkness, thoroughly confused by the lack of attack as he tried to figure out what had woken him up. The sudden movement next to him caught his attention as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness the one candle still burning had thrown the room into. Aramis was thrashing, quite obviously still asleep or unconscious, his body deep in the throes of fever.

He glanced over to Porthos and his breath was stolen from him at the look of absolute dismay painted on his comrade's face. As Athos' eyes met his own, Porthos shook his head minutely before dropping it to stare at the ground, the tear rolling down his face gleaming in the remaining light.

Athos used the sputtering candle to burn a few spares close by him on the table next to the bed before turning back to the stricken marksman. His stomach dropped at the sight. Aramis was once again drenched in sweat but so much so it was running down his face in rivulets. His skin had taken on a scarily grey and sallow pallor save for two bright pink spots on his fevered cheeks.

"Porthos, we need to try to bring his temperature down," Athos said making sure to add the bark to his tone that he used when issuing a command. Porthos was heading down a dangerous road of despair and Athos instinctively knew that the only thing he would respond to was a command.

Porthos flinched, looking back at his leader before narrowing his eyes and wiping angrily at the tears which still ran down his face. He stood, releasing his hold on Aramis' arm for that first time in hours and headed to the bowl of water which had had chance to cool as they had slept. He soaked some of the remaining linen strips and placed them across Aramis' burning forehead.

The moment he had released his hold on Aramis, a low, mournful moan had began growing in the man's chest as he fidgeted, rolling his head from side to side. Though his eyelids were still closed, his eyes roamed beneath them, caught up in some fever dream.

"Dead.."

"Aramis?" Athos said, leaning in to try to hear what the man was mumbling.

"All dead, the..crows..they're tearing at them..I can't..stop them." His eyes opened a little but his gaze did not see them. He was, at that moment, somewhere far, far away from the inn.

At Aramis' keening d'Artangan had finally awoke from his exhausted slumber, standing quickly to his feet and trying to understand what was going on.

"d'Artangan, I need you to go and draw some fresh water from the well," Athos said, not looking at the boy but focusing all his attentions on the writhing man. d'Artangan nodded, striding from the room and pausing only to grab a bucket which was standing in the corner.

Porthos had visibly stiffened at Aramis' words, his back still to the man. He looked over to Athos with a look of sadness mixed with fear as he finally understood the reason for the man's nightmare.

"Savoy," he said, his voice desolate.

The massacre had been where they had first really come together. The beginning tendrils of the bond which was so fixed in the years since had started working their way between them that day when Porthos had knelt in the snow, clutching the frozen man to his chest in an effort to work some heat into his stone cold body. Athos and Porthos had been apart of the group sent with carts to collect the dead only to be both surprised and horrified at finding one of the men alive. Horror because of his blue tinged lips contrasting with the stark red blood of his wounds as he'd panted in his unconscious state, screaming blue murder when they'd finally brought him round. Horror which had turned to elation when they'd managed to secure him help and after a long and drawn out night it had been apparent he was going to live. But no he hadn't lived, he'd survived, and for months that was all he had taken to doing. Surviving. There was no trace of the man they'd known in passing as the joker of the garrison. No warmth in the smiles he'd elicited to try to satisfy them that he was doing alright. They'd bonded during those terrible months and the brotherhood they'd forged was an armour which could never be pierced.

Unless one of the links in the chain broke.

Athos heart clutched painfully for a split second at the thought that Aramis was back alone on that battlefield in his mind. They all knew he was taken to having nightmares of Savoy on occasions when he reached so low he couldn't pull himself back from the crevasse. But that was the moment his brothers were there to grab him. To throw him a lifeline and remind him that they were very much there. But this time they couldn't wake him. So they couldn't reassure him. The thought terrified Athos.

Porthos had moved like a cat back to his position of vigilance by the bed. His hold was all the tighter now he understood the reasons for his friend's choked mumbling. His heart all but broke as the tears began to stream from Aramis' muddled eyes. d'Artangan returned to the room swiftly, slopping some of the cold water down himself in his haste not that he seemed to notice. Athos dipped another rag into the chilly bucket, swapping it for the one laying on Aramis' brow which had already warmed with the heat given off from his body.

He took another and immersed it into the water, this time taking the sodden linen and placing it next to the fevered man's lips, ringing a little of the liquid into his mouth. It was imperative that they replaced the water his body was so freely leaking. Aramis spluttered slightly before swallowing reflexively. Athos repeated the procedure several times as Porthos gripped his friend, with both hands now and began talking nothing and everything to him at once.

"I tried...they were dying..I couldn't save them," Aramis said, sobbing now. He blinked in the candlelight, a glaze covering his eyes as he looked to things which were not in the room.

"It wasn't your fault Aramis," Porthos said, frowning as he brought his other hand up to grip the man's good shoulder. "You're not alone any more now, we're 'ere."

d'Artangan clumsily wiped at his face where a rogue tear had fallen from his eye. He had never felt so helpless, and he had had no idea how deep the trauma of Savoy had gone. In all of the men before him. Athos and Porthos wore identical hollow masks as they were driven to remembering their time trying to save their friend. To remind him that life was worth living again. He finally felt that he understood. He moved to replenish the compress which had once again heated on Aramis' brow, wincing as he touched his skin and felt the fire beneath it.

He froze for a moment before striding to the medical kit, rummaging through the small bag on his quest to find what he wanted.

"d'Artangan?" Athos began, his question falling short as d'Artangan walked from the room.

Athos glanced at Porthos, a question on his face but Porthos was too engrossed trying to bring Aramis back to them to have even noticed the young man leaving.

"I found some!" d'Artangan said, suddenly bursting into the room a few minutes later.

"Found..what?" Athos said thoroughly confused although he turned in time to see his young charge holding some sort of weed aloft in the flickering light.

He turned, using one of the empty goblets as a vessel to grind the plant to a pulp using the hilt of his dagger, adding a few drops of laudanum from the small vial Aramis kept in the bag. He grabbed for a piece of the dwindling supply of linen before smearing the green mixture on it using the back of his knife. d'Artangan moved to their stricken friend, removing the bandages Athos had applied, which had loosened with Aramis' fidgeting. They all gasped quietly at the sight. The wound was a vivid red and pus seeped from some of the stitch sites.

d'Artangan whipped around, impatiently blowing a strand of his sweaty hair out of his face, before soaking a bandage in brandy and applying it to the weeping gash. Aramis moaned and tried to jerk away from his ministrations. Porthos held him in place with a steadying hand. After cleaning the wound the best he could, d'Artangan swiftly picked up his poultice and applied it, tying it in place with some more linen, tighter this time to keep it from shifting as Aramis thrashed.

"Back on the farm we used to use this plant to draw out the poisons," d'Artangan finally said by way of explanation. "I remembered Aramis carries laudanum and figured it wouldn't hurt to throw some of that in there as well."

"It should ease the pain somewhat," Athos said looking at the young man. "Your knowledge of local remedies could come in handy in the future. Aramis will like to talk to you about it.." he broke off, just mentioning their comrade was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Every sentence seemed to come with an implied 'if he makes it'.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Aramis' continued whimpering. Their bodies were exhausted after a long day of riding and battle and little sleep and one by one they sank in on themselves in their seats, but their reddening eyes would not close that evening. Not until their brother's fever broke...or he did. Porthos ran his hand through Aramis' sweat soaked hair as he stroked his head trying to silently communicate their presence.

It seemed like days rather than the hours it actually was when Athos was startled from his trance by Porthos' shouting voice, gruff with lack of sleep.

"Aramis...ARAMIS," he had stood, shaking their brother roughly, barely paying attention to his injured shoulder in his panic. d'Artangan had leapt from his seat, horror in his eyes as he rushed to the bedside and stared manically at their friend. "Come on you bastard. Don't you leave me."

Athos leaned forward his eyesight blurring as unshed tears threatened to fall. Aramis had gone pale. Pale as death. His face was finally smooth and unmarked by the pains and terrors which had tormented him that night. His chapped lips parted slightly. He looked...peaceful.

Porthos stood, still gripping his brother's shoulders but now lowering his forehead and pressing it against Aramis' as he openly sobbed, his heart being ripped to shreds as part of his soul departed with the marksman.

"Porthos..._Porthos_," Athos rasped, eyes narrowing as he focused intently on Aramis' glistening chest. "PORTHOS, he still lives!"

Porthos turned to Athos, hope blossoming in his gaze, his expression mirrored by that of d'Artangan as he leaned back, releasing his friend's shoulders and grasping for his wrist. He froze for what felt like a lifetime before his face finally broke into a huge grin.

"A pulse." He sank back into his seat still clutching at Aramis' wrist, scared that the pulse might leave should he let go but it was definitely there. Slow but strong.

"His fever broke?" d'Artangan asked rhetorically. It was clear that the fire which had been burning their friend had finally abated.

"When 'e stopped moving I thought.." Porthos began, tears still streaming openly down his face. Although they were now tears of joy.

Athos stood, wiping Aramis' face with a wet cloth to remove the fever sweat. In truth he needed the contact to prove to himself outright that his friend really hadn't left them. He felt the warm puffs of air against his hand as Aramis took easy breaths and sighed himself, a grin breaking out across his face as he lay a palm against the sleeping Musketeer's face.

"You bastard."

* * *

><p>Athos blinked as something bounced off his forehead. Jumping slightly when it happened again. He opened bleary eyes which had closed of their own accord some time in the early hours of the night. Dawn now coloured the room turning everything to shades of lilac. He was flicked on the forehead once more and leaned back stiffly in his chair from the side of the bed he had fallen on in sleep and surveyed the room.<p>

His eyes rested on the grinning forms of his three brothers, Aramis' the largest of all though pain tinged his eyes. Athos lifted an eyebrow as he finally understood the source of his disturbance, his gaze settling on the lump of bread Aramis now held in his hands.

"Good morning to you too," he said his tone droll even as his heart leapt at the sight of his friend awake and alive.

"Thought you might want some breakfast," Aramis said with a wheeze as he rolled one more ball, laughing as it bounced between Athos' eyes. The laugh turned to a groan and a grimace as he jolted his shoulder.

"Rest," Porthos said, leaning a warm hand on his friend's cooled arm. "You're still only just out of the woods and you're gonna need your strength."

"Now, Porthos, must you be _quite _so dramatic," Aramis said, his voice thick with weariness as he visibly fought to keep his eyes open. The brief flurry of activity enough to wear him out.

"Dramatic 'e says, 'e's the one who almost died on us," Porthos said with a half smile as he remembered the tearing sorrow he'd felt when he thought Aramis was dead. It warred with the elation of seeing his friend awake.

"Oh..hush...it is merely a..flesh wound," Aramis argued, yawns permeating his words.

"Sleep Aramis. Gain back your strength so we may take you home." The words were soft but they were still an order and Aramis did not try to fight Athos on the matter. Finally closing his eyes as he stopped fighting the call of rest. He mumbled something, half asleep.

"What was that?"

"I said have you dealt...with your own wounds?" Aramis repeated, concern edging his words.

"Typical Aramis, worried with the well being of cuts and bruises whilst sporting a hole crafted by a bullet," Athos said half teasing. In truth, the man's need to put his friends and brothers before his own well being was one of the character traits Athos most admired. "They have been neglected but now you have decided to free us up some spare time by not dying I'll see to it that we are all patched up. Now sleep."

"You...better," Aramis replied, trying and failing to look stern as he finally lost the battle to stay conscious.

d'Artangan stepped forward and with deft fingers, removed the bandages to check on his poultice and the wound beneath it. They all breathed a sigh of relief at the change. The poultice was discoloured by the pus it had drawn from the wound, and the wound itself was beginning to turn a healthier looking pink although red still blazed around some of the more infected stitch sites. d'Artangan smiled to himself with a nod as he removed the stained bandage and replaced it with the remainder of the crushed plant mixture.

"I'm no expert at this stuff but I think it's going to get better soon," he said with a smile to Athos.

"You've done 'im wonders," Porthos replied patting the boy on the back.

"Now that we know he isn't going to do something overly dramatic and die I think it's time we assess the mission," Athos said, his face growing grim.

"Well it's never 'is style to just get shot and get better is it, 'e always likes to make us worry," Porthos said grinning.

"It must be his theatrical flair," d'Artangan agreed.

"Be that as it may, he's not going to be any use on a horse for another day at least and we still have papers to deliver," Athos replied.

"Bugger the Marquis and 'is party invite," Porthos growled, eyes flashing, "if we 'adn't been on the road for that stupid swine we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place."

"True, but this was supposed to be an easy one," Athos said, attempting to reason with his angry friend, "and the King himself has seen fit to send these papers so they must be delivered. I don't want to split us up but I don't want to put Aramis through a ride to the Marquis' home and then back to Paris either. He's been through quite enough as it is."

Pothos said nothing but nodded, sullenly.

"Chances are we killed most of the bandits who attacked us and disheartened the rest from trying again but there's always the chance of them deciding to try their luck, so I propose one of us stays with Aramis as protection and two may deliver the letter. If we set off now we can be back by sundown which gives Aramis the day and the night to recuperate so we may return to Paris on the morrow."

"I'm staying with 'im," Porthos said, daring Athos to deny him. "If anyone comes back for 'im they'll 'ave to get through me."

Athos considered the man, knowing that Porthos was going to volunteer to stay and absently thinking how even he wouldn't go against him with the expression which currently painted his face.

"Then d'Artangan and I will ride for the Marquis. Look for our return this evening, and Porthos, make sure he actually rests. Get some broth in him."

"I'll tie 'im to the bed if I 'ave to."

* * *

><p>"Porthos?" The sound was so quiet and cracked the big man almost didn't hear it for a moment in his sleep deprived daze. Blinking to clear his eyes, he pulled a hand down his face in an attempt to wake himself properly before turning to the source of the noise.<p>

"'Ow're you feeling?" he asked, concern lacing his tone. Though some colour had returned to his cheeks, the Musketeer was still several shades off his usually olive complexion and the dark smudges of purple under his eyes made his pallor look, if possible, that much paler.

"Better, I think," Aramis replied sleepily. "At least in body."

Porthos closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, nodding in understanding.

"You were calling out about Savoy when you were under," he started, noting how Aramis turned from him at the word and stared out of the window into the darkening sky of the evening.

"I could see them all as though they were before me once more," he said, a shudder running through his body, "I was deep in those woods again...but, Mathieu was there..do you remember him?"

"The skinny kid? The one who's mouth was a lot bigger than 'e was?"

"And freshly commissioned before he was sent on that damned training mission with us. It was supposed to temper that smart mouth of his and get him involved with the Musketeers proper."

"I remember 'im squaring up to me once," Porthos said with a sad smile at the memory, "I think 'e would have tried to back it up as well if Serge 'adn't pulled 'im back."

"I held onto him that night, as he bled out into the snow." The words were softly spoken but they felt like a dagger in Porthos' heart.

"'e was too young," Porthos bit out, anger for what had transpired to his friend still burning in his chest.

"But then he was there, alive again and he was talking to me. He kept saying how...I should come and join my brothers in the forest. How I shouldn't have left them in the first place." At this, tears gathered in the corners of Aramis' eyes but he did not wipe them away. He had no fear of Porthos seeing what he considered his moment of weakness. Aramis jumped slightly as Porthos let out a deep growl at his words. He felt helpless at his friend's admission.

"You didn't leave them Aramis, you survived that's all. You deserve to feel no guilt for still having a pulse."

"I was going to go with him," Aramis almost whispered, looking away from Porthos once again, "I was so very tired and it felt so very inviting to just follow him into the trees. But then...then I heard you." At this he turned and looked Porthos fully in the eyes. "Your voice came ringing out of the woods and I turned and followed that instead, and then I could hear Athos and finally d'Artangan."

Porthos said nothing but gazed back at his friend, tears gathering in his own eyes as he smiled.

"I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for being there once again."

"Always," Porthos replied, the word seeming to resonate in its truth.

They grasped each others forearms before Aramis' eyes grew heavy once again and Porthos hushed him into sleep once more. He looked up suddenly as he heard the sound of hoof beats outside on the forest trail. His brothers had returned.

* * *

><p>Athos checked his horse's tack before securing the saddlebags now stuffed with more food from the landlady of the inn. She had been hovering around them the previous evening, worried for the man who'd spent two days in one of her beds. Aramis had finally rested enough to be able to talk to his friends properly although he still had the tendency to nod off mid sentence, and he had lapped up her attentions thoroughly, winking at the others as she had bustled to prepare him a hot meal on the house. Though he had only managed a few mouthfuls in his weakened state despite the many threats from Athos to force it down his neck if he didn't try to eat some more.<p>

They had spent much of the evening in laughter. The road to the Marquis had been an easy one, there was not a bandit in sight, and the ridiculous man had positively wobbled with delight at their delivery of the note from the King. He had insisted on pressing gold coin into both hands of the bemused Musketeers and implored that they stayed and partake of a lavish meal consisting of various dishes and culminating in a display of what was supposed to be the palace constructed entirely from sugar and jellies.

Athos had merely raised an eyebrow in the direction of d'Artangan, insisting that they must leave before having to try to eat any of the monstrosity and they had made their escape. They had rushed back to be reunited with their comrades who had been less than supportive of their tale, both exchanging knowing glances and Aramis laughing so much he pulled his stitches.

Some colour had appeared in his face by the end of the evening, laughter truly being the best medicine, although the smudges of exhaustion still bruised his eyes. Athos noted this with worry, wanting to get Aramis back to Paris as soon as possible but knowing the stubborn Musketeer would have no trouble concealing if he was actually unfit to go. He was as eager to return to the garrison as all of them.

Raising the question quietly with his friend had only confirmed his suspicions. Aramis was dead set on getting on the back of a horse the next day, with their help or not. And so, Athos had called for an earlier night than they were accustomed to in an attempt to have him rest as much as was possible before the slow ride back.

He noted the hollow look in Aramis' eyes when the laughter had ceased as his friends had bunkered down for the night in their various positions in the room, none of them wanting to leave him even though he was well out of the woods. A look which had faded as he took a moment to gaze at the men surrounding him and he had breathed an easy sigh before resting back into the pillows and falling almost instantly asleep.

Athos turned as there was some commotion behind him. Porthos was leaving the inn, steadying Aramis with a hand across his back as the Musketeer winced and staggered slightly. He had not used his muscles in a couple of days and they had stiffened somewhat. d'Artangan followed behind carrying various bits and pieces that had been left in the room along with Aramis' hat.

Aramis eyed the horse in front of him with trepidation. It suddenly seemed like a thirty foot obstacle to be mounted and he glanced at Porthos. The large man, instinctively seeming to understand his predicament, leaned next to the animal, cupping his hands and allowing Aramis to use them to mount steadying him as he went. Aramis sighed as he finally managed to heave himself into the saddle. Athos saw his hands tremble a little as the marksman closed his eyes and breathed deeply through the pain rocketing through his shoulder. He cleared his throat, composing himself before holding a hand to his side where d'Artangan stood.

"Hat."

d'Artangan grinned as he handed up Aramis' trademark headpiece, fluffing up the feather as he went.

"Ah, now I suddenly feel more like myself," he said with a grin which almost erased the lines of discomfort creasing his eyes. Lines which only grew deeper as they were finally off, trotting at a steady pace but each hoof beat sending a line of pain shooting through his injured shoulder. He resolved to grit his teeth and bear it however, he was eager to clap eyes on Paris before nightfall.

They made good time for the morning, their easy banter seeming to make the road all the shorter. Athos rode from behind this time, placing himself in the rear guard mostly so he could keep an eye on the battered men in front. d'Artangan led from the front of their diamond formation, his bruises already turning their sickly yellow at the edges. He had managed to escape the mission with a minimum of injury for once although the mark on his face from their first evening at the inn still stood out in sharp contrast against his dark skin. A thrill of savage happiness shot through Athos as he remembered dispatching the man who had caused his friend the bruise.

Porthos rode on Aramis' good side with the unspoken understanding of steadying the man should he need it, not that he would ever let on to the proud Musketeer for fear of some ill advised and stubborn response. Porthos also seemed to have taken his bumps and bruises well as they seemingly did not even slow the man down for a moment.

Athos himself winced slightly as he moved in his saddle. The summer heat was once again on full blast and causing sweat to run down his skin under his clothing and sting the cut he had obtained on his hip. It was a small wound but it stung like the devil although it seemed to be healing well after he had taken the time to clean it properly after Aramis had been seen to. The cut to the top of his wrist however was a little inflamed, though it had cooled under the same poultice d'Artangan had concocted for Aramis' shoulder which he had insisted he apply to his mentor too as soon as he had caught sight of his injury. Athos was just as stubborn and stoic, if not more so, than their marksman when it came to injury on occasion and he felt such a small wound in their circumstances was not worth the time and effort of being cared for. A view he had immediately rethought upon seeing the look d'Artangan had given him once he had caught wind of the cut. They had more than enough trouble with one set of puppy dog eyes in the group under Aramis without the lad joining in as well.

Athos glanced to Aramis at the thought, the wry grin on his lips freezing as he took a proper moment to assess his countenance. He had been steadily slumping into his saddle over the long hours of the morning. His generally quick wit seemed to be dulled and his retorts to his brother's banter had grown shorter and more clipped before disappearing altogether.

He seemed to almost be crumbling in on himself, dipping his wounded shoulder and leaving his arm and hand to hang limp over the saddle as he gripped the reigns in the other ineffectively. His horse was riding unchecked but luckily it was well trained to fall in with the others and hadn't just wandered off into a thicket to chew on grass all day.

As Athos was considering what to do, he knew pointing out any shortcomings to his friend would just result in him stubbornly righting himself and riding until he broke, when the choice was made for him.

"Porthos!" The word came out as a bark and the man whipped in his saddle in time to see Aramis slumping to the side from his. He would have fallen senselessly to the ground if not for Porthos shooting out an arm and grasping the blue sash at his waist. The resulting jolt seemed to pull Aramis from his swoon, and he pulled himself back into his seat looking very confused and a mite embarrassed.

"I'm fine," he said immediately before anyone had a chance to say anything to the contrary, rolling his eyes dramatically as Athos called for the procession to halt.

"Aramis, you are a fool!" Athos said, bringing his horse abreast his so he could aim the beam of anger shooting from his eyes fully at his target. Aramis almost flinched at the words as he attempted to meet Athos' eye, failing miserably. "What good is rushing back to Paris if you kill yourself in the process?"

"Now who's the dramatic one?" Aramis said, sullenly through a pout as he lowered his head to his chest.

"A fall from a horse is no laughing matter, you could have knocked yourself senseless," Athos said allowing some anger to lace his words enough to let Aramis know he wasn't prepared to put up with his usual indifference to his own injuries.

"I just really wanted to spend a night in my own bed," Aramis said, almost immune to his leader's tone as he looked at him with sad, brown eyes.

"Or one of the fine ladies of Paris," Porthos said from across the road, amusement in his voice which was echoed by d'Artangan's bark of laughter.

"Gentlemen I do not find this all that amusing," Athos said, sullenly. The look on his face killing the laughter.

"Oh come on Athos, I think we would all appreciate getting home tonight and I promise not to fall off my horse again," Aramis said a little apologetically.

"No, we should stop now and rest. Maybe even make camp," replied Athos though his own bones screamed to be back in his rooms.

"What about a compromise?" Porthos said suddenly, attracting both their attentions. "What if 'e rides with me? I won't let 'im fall."

Aramis almost spluttered in indignation until he caught the look on Athos' face.

"You're actually considering this?"

"No," replied Athos in thought, "I am telling you that if you don't take up Porthos' offer then we make camp right here. Right now, and you can fetch the sticks. Bullet wound or no."

Aramis looked outraged at the words until he assessed Athos. The expression on his face was one he wore when he dared them to question his orders. An expression Aramis had learned he could never best and always ended up on the wrong side of if he tried, though he often did. He sighed dramatically before turning to Porthos with a scowl.

"Well fine then you utter oaf, get over here and help me down off this blasted animal."

* * *

><p>So it was that they finally rode into the garrison that evening. Athos turning his head and nodding to Treville, who's heart had sank at seeing their entrance though it eased a little at the action. Athos wouldn't be so quick to let him know everything was alright if it was not.<p>

Despite Aramis' protestations and constant stream of grumbling about how he was not some damsel in distress who needed her skirts holding out of the mud, he had flagged mere hours later on the road and finally sank into an unconsciousness born of exhaustion when Porthos had told him to stop being such a stubborn arse and just let his body sleep. Despite their teasing, Porthos was speaking the truth when he had said he wouldn't let him fall, and deep down Aramis knew this too.

Porthos had worried at the boneless slump of his friend but just gripped him all the tighter. When they finally clattered into the yard, he shook him slightly but there was no response and so he had waited and handed his friend gently into the waiting arms of Athos, and Treville who had marched down the stairs to assess his men for himself.

"My rooms are closest," Athos said and they shuffled to his apartments carrying Aramis' dead weight before depositing him upon Athos' freshly made bed, removing his coat, weapons and boots as they did so.

"What has happened to him?" Treville asked, worriedly taking in all of their appearances with a strain on his face. They were all dishevelled with dirt, blood and travel stained clothes. They also shared bruises and not a pair of eyes in the room were not accompanied by bags of fatigue.

"He was shot, it is a long tale and not one I wish to recount at this moment," Athos said, weariness seeping into his voice as he leaned against the foot of his bed. Now the mission was truly over and he had seen his men home safely his body was letting him know it was time for rest. "He is over the worst of it now but he tired himself to the point of passing out.."

"Because 'e's a right stubborn swine," Porthos interjected.

Treville nodded, happy to let the men rest as the night drew in proper and he understood that they were all alright.

"I take it there's no need to call for a physician then?" Treville asked, nodding as the three men shook their heads, "fine, I shall have a full report in the morning. I take it the papers were delivered?"

"I'm sure the Marquis is touching up his most elaborate wig as we speak in anticipation," Athos dead panned.

"Then I'm sure you have the King's thanks. I expect the three of you in my office tomorrow and you shall leave out no detail of this 'long tale'. Then I don't want to see any of you in the yard for at least a week. I suspect you shall all be more busy than I could ever make you keeping a certain someone confined to their bed as they rest," Treville said, a mock frown covering his face.

"You..wound me," Aramis said blearily. He had woken in time to hear the captain's closing statement.

"No, that was the bullet. And if you even think of leaving that bed before you're good and able I'll revoke your commission myself. Good evening to you gentlemen."

With that the captain turned and strode from the room, a grin breaking out across his face as he winked to d'Artangan as he passed the boy. d'Artangan returned the smile before looking sternly towards Aramis.

"What? You're not seriously going to keep me cooped up in this bloody bed for days are you?" Aramis said, looking slowly from each of his brother's faces to the other. They wore identically rigid masks as he scrutinised them individually before turning to the wall with a pout.

"Fine then but if you think I'm sharing this mattress you're sadly mistaken. Good luck sleeping on the floor for a week."

* * *

><p>Done (almost! There is a sneaky epilogue coming up because my brain wouldn't drop an image I had of Athos and Aramis and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it). I hope you all enjoyed the ride and really, thank you for the lovely comments. There are a few from guest's I'd like to reply to but I cannot so let me just apply a blanket thank you to you all, they are so appreciated.<p>

(And also to the guest who brought up the point about Porthos probably not have a weak stomach when it came to blood, you're right of course but I'm taking a little artistic licence...let's just pretend he only deals with blood when he absolutely _has_ to).

I have enjoyed writing for this fandom so I reckon I'll wade into it again (perhaps soon, I'm feeling weirdly productive when it comes to writing).

Thanks again and any comments or critiques you have for this chapter/story are very much welcomed with open arms.


	4. Epilogue

Aramis stirred, blinking slowly as he broke into a huge yawn before looking around the room, confusion clouding his eyes for a moment before they settled on the seated form of Athos. The light of the last candle danced across Athos' face as he leaned into his chair, swirling the ever present goblet of wine in his hand and raising it in a toast to Aramis, a half smile on his face as he noticed his wakened friend, before taking a lazy sip.

Aramis glimpsed his other friends in the darkened room, each slumped in sleep from their positions of vigilance. Quiet snoring issuing from both men's mouths.

"I didn't actually get a chance to thank you for putting me back together," Aramis whispered to Athos, a grin evident even in the near darkness before his voice took on a more serious note, "in...more ways than one."

"You have patched us up more times than I care think about without asking for thanks," Athos replied, also keeping his voice quiet so as not to disturb their slumbering friends, his heart tightening for a moment as he understood his brother was not thanking him for stitches alone.

"Yes, but then I have had more practise and I know you haven't exactly taken to field medicine," Aramis said. "You did well."

"Perhaps I should think about paying closer attention in the future incase you decide to go get yourself injured again and leave us in this predicament once more," Athos said, amusement in his voice although there was a graveness to his words. There had been a real moment where he thought he might lose Aramis, and it was then he realised just how much his brothers meant to him. If keeping them safe included learning how to properly patch them back up then so be it, much as his stomach rebelled at the thought.

"Well I'll try harder not to be wounded in the future I'm sure," Aramis said with mock hurt. "Although I wouldn't be opposed to you trying your hand at the needle, under my careful eye of course. The Lord knows your stitches leave plenty to be desired."

"That is a point, I'll remind you of your thanks when you see my most recent work for yourself and perhaps no longer feel quite so grateful..." Athos said, a smile curling his mouth at the corner once more.

"I'm sure it can't be all that bad," Aramis replied, returning his own smile though with a slight tightness in his voice which spoke of a little trepidation. Of the group, it was his own scars which tended to be the messiest. Especially when they were in places he hadn't been able to tend to himself. "Now I really must apologise but I can't seem to keep my eyes open any longer my friend."

"Rest Aramis. I will see you on the morrow."

Aramis nodded before settling back into his pillows and closing his eyes. Athos smiled before losing himself as he stared into the darkness of what little sky he could see through his window, not stirring even at the quiet shuffling sounds which started coming from the bed.

"Bloody hell, I think you've managed to make this one the worst one yet!"

* * *

><p>Ok, it's really finished this time. I just couldn't shake this little moment from my mind so I got it down on 'paper'.<p>

Thank you all once again and I hope you enjoyed the ride!


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